


i heard they don't get so low down

by Rabbitt



Category: Haven - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, Brief mention of violence against animals, Consent Issues, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Guilt, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Sex Pollen, Sexual Violence, Smut, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:51:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3309572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rabbitt/pseuds/Rabbitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And besides,” Mara adds, voice dropping, hunching forward like she’s sharing a secret. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”</p><p>Duke looks away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i heard they don't get so low down

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Get Hurt” by The Gaslight Anthem. Specifically: I think I'm gonna move to California / Mama, can you say a prayer for me? / I heard they don't get so low down / I heard they never bleed / Not like we bleed / And I came to get hurt / Might as well do your worst to me.
> 
> I wrote this ages and ages ago and waffled on posting it, but here we are. Thanks of course to lovesrogue36 for looking it over.
> 
> (If you want a more thorough rundown of the trigger warnings, or if you want me to tag something else, please feel free to contact me.)

 

“Crockers,” Mara says, smiling. “You go almost all the way back. Oh, not all the way, don’t get excited - but pretty far. Once we figured out we needed something to… “ She raps her fingers against the arm of the chair. “Hmm. Cull the herd.”

Duke can feel his teeth grind together, tries to unclench his jaw before Mara notices it. “That’s great. Real swell. I don’t see how it’s relevant to our current problems.”

Mara _tsks_ in disapproval. “So impatient. You know, I wasn’t so sure how you Crockers would do without someone to keep a hand on your leash. You have to be careful about breeding dogs, to get the right kind of killer - sheepdogs, or hog curs, or those tall, lean wolfhounds. You know how they train wolfhounds?” she asks. “You have to catch a wolf alive, and then you cut the tendons in its legs. Hamstring it. You can keep it around like that, alive and limping, for a good long while. Then you just throw it in the pen with the puppies. Teach them to bite it by the ears. Get them used to blood when they’re young. Give them a taste for it.”

“Dammit-” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“But you all did just _fine_ without us. Did daddy get you used to the blood when you were young, I wonder? Did he give you a taste for it?” Her mouth is set in a thoughtful line, but her eyes are amused.

(Mara always asks him questions, now. Her favourite is, “Did you like it?”

Like, _“All those people who were pissing you off, their mouths stitched up, because of you? Did you like making them suffer?”_

_“No,” he grits out. “No, because I’m not a psycho-”_

_“Mmm,” she hums, “Borrrring.”_

Like, “ _The poor gravedigger boy. Did you like killing him?”_

_His pulse thumps in his ears. “I didn’t mean to.”_

_“You stuck him,” Mara says, delighted. “like a pig. Got his blood_ all _over your hands.”_

_“I didn’t want to.”_

_Mara’s head cocks._

_“Was he your first?” she asks, almost gentle. “Hm. Big, bad boy like you? I don’t believe it. You’re a man in a dangerous line of work, after all. Always strutting around with your big gun in your hands. Don’t tell me that was all talk and no…” Her gaze flicked down to his waistband. “Walk.”_

Like, _“Did you like having me all tied up like that?” with her fingers tracing slow circles on her armrests. “Do you? All that control? Having me at your…mercy?”)  
_

Duke sneers. “We already have a deal, Mara. If you wanted to swap campfire stories about my childhood some more, you should’ve bargained for it.”

She sighs. “Well. I suppose that’s true. Wouldn’t want you to burst before things get fun, anyway, would I?”

“Just do it,” he says, reaching out a hand.

“Ungrateful,” she sniffs, but she takes his hand in her own.

He bites down on his tongue.

It’s like a dislocated joint popping back into place - the pain amplifying in a sharp, compressed burst, and then dulling. It lasts for a horrible moment, pain wrenching through his muscles, and he falls to his knees, dimly aware that he’s jerked his hand out of Mara’s grasp, that the ringing noise he hears is her laughing. There’s blood in his _eyes._ He can feel it clogging up his throat, pouring out of his nose, his ears. Sticky and hot on his skin.

And then it’s over. He stays down for a moment, breathing harshly, waits.

Nothing happens.

“What is it,” he asks, voice hoarse. He coughs again, throat burning, blood flecking the ground. He wipes at his face. “What did you give me?”

His stomach roils. It’s probably from swallowing blood, not the Trouble. He thinks of Harry Nix - organs failing him one by one. Thinks of his baby daughter, the photographs that come in the mail every few months. His stomach churns again. When he asked Mara for a Trouble that won’t kill people, maybe he should’ve specified _himself._

“Ah ah ah,” Mara says, wagging a finger. “No peeking at your presents before they’re opened. This one’s a surprise.”

“You fucking -” Duke hacks. “Mara - “

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head.” Mara rolls her eyes. “I kept my word: nothing that kills anybody, you spoilsport.”

Duke climbs slowly to his feet.

“You were supposed to give me the Halwood Trouble,” he says. He waves his hands. “Funny thing is, I can still see everything just fine.”

“But it was so _dull,”_ Mara says. “Whiny little artist suddenly goes colourblind, leeches colour out of anything he touches when he’s feeling moody, wah wah wah. It’s a good thing your great-great-granddaddy killed him only because he was _so_ pathetic. Trust me, this one’s _much_ more fun.”

“If anybody gets hurt because of this, I swear to god - “

“You’ll, what? Cut off my toe? Sure. Face it, sweetheart. You need me.” She gives a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Now go away. Play with your new toy.”

Duke glares at her for a long moment, feels his heart thumping faster and faster in his chest, anger ratcheting up, when the door swings open behind him.

“Duke?” Nathan asks, stepping into the room. “Are you all right?”

Duke grits his teeth. “She went back on our deal.”

“She didn’t give you a Trouble?” he says, concerned. Duke shakes his head.

“No, she did, but not the Halwood one. I don’t know… “ He trails off, running an annoyed hand through his hair.

Nathan nods, blue eyes narrowing. He glances at Mara. “I take it you’re not telling?”

“Nope,” Mara says, smacking her lips on the word. Her eyes are bright with mirth. “This one is _much_ more entertaining for Duke to figure out on his own.”

Nathan nods again, unsurprised. He sighs. “Come on, Duke.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he adds, when Duke doesn’t move. Duke sighs.

“Yeah,” he says, with just a touch of bitterness. “I guess we always do, don’t we?”

He reaches out for Nathan, like he always reaches out for Nathan, clapping a hand on the back of his neck as they turn to go out the door.

And that’s about when everything goes straight to hell.

 

* * *

 

Nathan wakes up slowly. His nose is pressed into the smell of dirt and metal and salt. He groans, blinking the room into focus. Nathan doesn’t feel hangovers but this is sort of what hangovers don’t feel like - his mouth sour, the room spinning.

There’s a sharp, repetitive slapping sound.

“Oh, well done,” Mara’s voice comes, filtering in from somewhere above him. She’s clapping. “That was some show, _Nate.”_

Dizzily, Nathan pushes himself up. He’s lying on the floor of - of _The Rouge’s_ hold, he realises, white sunlight draining in through the slats in the ceiling, dust swirling in the air. The soft tilting of the room could either be his head or the tides. Mara’s still tied to her chair, like always. He gets his hands under him, lifts himself up on his hands and knees.

“What - “ he starts, his voice rubbed raw. “What happened?”

He remembers coming to collect Duke after his chat with Mara. He’s been trying to limit his time in Mara’s vicinity. It’s practical, really - Mara has a way of using them, and he doesn’t need to offer himself up as ammunition - but it’s selfish, too. Mara rubs him in all the wrong ways. She’s a scar, a reminder of everything that has gone wrong, that could go wrong, between him and Audrey. But they’d been taking too long, so he’d headed for the hold, and - there’s a gap there, a yawning lacuna in his memory, as to what comes after that.

“You don’t even remember? Well. Duke’s going to be _so_ disappointed.”

He breathes hard, trying to orient himself. It smells like dirt and metal and salt and - Nathan goes still.

He looks down at himself. His jeans are unbuttoned, rucked down around his hips.

It smells like dirt and metal and salt and _blood_ and. And. His brain stutters over the data, refusing to accept it. His jeans are down.

Hastily, he pulls up his pants, tucks himself back in. His fingers are clumsy on the button.

Mara laughs at him.

“Poor boy. And here I thought it was true love.”

“You - _What did you do?”_ Nathan stumbles to his feet.

Mara shrugs in a _who, me?_ gesture. “What did _I_ do? _I_ didn’t do anything. Just sat here in this chair, right where you left me.” She smiles. “ _You_ were the one going at it like a rabbit.”

“What,” he says. He - there’s a flash of memory, _his hands fisted around Duke’s wrists, thumbnails digging into the dip between the fragile bones, holding him still, the alkaline taste of his skin as he licks a stripe up his back, dragging his teeth over the knobs of his spine -_

“No,” he says, a whisper. “No, we -”

He can’t have, he thinks. He’s with Audrey, he wouldn’t have-

“ _Yes_ ,” Mara says, delighted. “Yes, you did. You two. And let me tell you, it was something to see. I didn’t think you had it in you, Wuornos. But, well. I guess you sure had it in _Duke._ ”

She runs her tongue over her teeth. Nathan stands there, frozen. “And _how._ It almost makes it worth it, you know, being stuck on this dilapidated little rowboat, with entertainment like that. Watching you strip him. The way you put your hand on his _throat._ Made him _choke._ Pinned him down and - “

Another flash: _the horrible, ravenous hunger, unable to think of anything but the_ need, _to have Duke, to open him up, to fuck him -_

He shakes his head, a denial, desperation, trying to block out her words. She makes a show of gasping. “Oh _dear._ What is poor little Audrey going to say about _this_?”

Nathan’s whole body flinches. He gasps out a breath, the noise making him aware that his lungs can’t seem to draw enough air, and shuts his eyes, squeezing them closed until red blots across his vision like ink spills.

He can still hear Mara laughing.

He blinks his eyes open, vision clearing, and realises he’s clamped one hand over his own mouth, as if to hold back a scream. He pulls it away, finds Mara’s gaze.

“Wh- where is he?” he says. He has to find Duke. Whatever else - he has to find Duke, make sure he’s okay, get him to say what really happened.

Mara rolls her eyes. “After you two finally managed to take your hands off of each other, he tucked tail and ran. Not much for the afterglow, I guess. Funny. I would’ve pegged him for a cuddler.”

“I - “ Nathan says, swallowing down the bile rising in his throat. “I have to - “

Nathan runs.

“Aw, don’t worry, Nathan,” Mara calls after him. “You don’t have to be gentle. It’s not like it’s his first - “

He slams the door in his wake.

He clambers up the stairs, out into the dwindling daylight. The upper deck is eerily still. He heads towards Duke’s bedroom, swallows hard around the sudden memory of _Duke’s frantic litany, Nathan, Nathan, Nathan, his cries of_ _don’t, stop, you’re not thinking right, giving way into_ _all right, all right, I got you, I have you, come here, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay._ He tastes bile in the back of his throat.

“Duke?” he calls out. His voice still sounds scratchy, like he’s been swallowing sandpaper.

He looks around. There’s a pair of glasses sitting on Duke’s bedside table and he looks at them for a long moment in confusion, hand reaching out, before realising they must have been Jennifer’s. His hand draws back quickly.

He can hear the pipes running. The door to the bathroom is shut, steam flooding out from beneath it like a fog unrolling over the coast. Nathan stares at the shut door, trying to figure out why it looks wrong.

There’s no crack of light under it, he realises. He sits down on the edge of Duke’s bed, certain that his knees would be shaky, body too heavy for them, if he could feel it.

It feels like an age before he hears the water shut off, the sounds of Duke moving around inside the bathroom. He waits.

Duke comes out with a towel wrapped around his waist, water still dripping from his hair. He freezes, hand on the doorknob, when he sees Nathan sitting there.

Time seems to catch, the moment stretching out heedless of the turn of the earth, as they stare at each other. Duke’s eyes are dark, unreadable. Nathan tries not to look at the marks purpling down the span of his neck, over his shoulder, mottled like stormclouds, to not think of Audrey, what he’s going to tell her, to not think about _sinking his teeth into him, moaning at the taste, the low, shuddering whine that crawls its way out of Duke’s throat as Nathan bites, his hand going up to clutch Duke’s throat, Mara’s distant voice, “Beautiful,” thumb driving in and up just under his adam’s apple, squeezing, Duke gasping, choking, watching the long, dark length of cock stiffen -_

 _I’m sorry,_ Nathan thinks. _Oh god, oh fucking god, I’m so sorry, what did we -_

“You’re awake,” Duke says. His voice is hoarse.

Nathan nods. “I-I, yes- I just-” He clears his throat.

The moment snaps. Duke strides past him to the bureau, pulling open the drawers with a painfully loud screech, and starts tugging out clothes, seemingly at random.

“I take it you’re feeling better?” he asks without looking at him. His voice is steady, empty. “All systems a go?”

“ _Duke,”_ Nathan says. His hands wrench in the blankets under him, white-knuckled. He makes himself say it, desperate. Because Mara might be lying, he might be imagining this, his jeans around his hips, the hold of _The Rouge_ smelling like dirt and metal and salt and _blood_ and _cum_ , this is _Haven,_ nothing is ever what it looks like. “I don’t- Mara says we- did we…did we have _sex_?”

Duke’s back is to him, and he watches the planes of his shoulders as he pauses, shirt in hand, water winding down between his shoulder blades, sees the subtle tremor there.

“Jesus, Nate,” he laughs, rough and awful. He doesn’t turn around. “You telling me you don’t remember?”

The towel is slung low on his hips. Nathan can see the scratch marks descending under it, long thin lines he must have dragged across Duke with his own nails. He doesn’t know how far down they go.

“Because I didn’t think it was that bad,” Duke continues, going back to his clothes. “Certainly memorable.”

He pulls out a pair of jeans, looks at them thoughtfully. “Of course, you did fall asleep pretty quick there.”

Nathan sucks a breath in through his teeth. “It was the Trouble. Whatever Mara gave you. I didn’t- you know I wouldn’t- “

“You think I don’t know that?” Duke demands. Finally, he spins around, jeans twisted in his hands, facing him. His tone is thick with something Nathan can’t figure out. He doesn’t look Nathan in the eyes. “I know, Nathan. You would never touch me like that without a Trouble.”

_He listens to Duke’s breath stutter, eyes slipping shut, as Nathan paws at his cock. He can’t feel the fine, soft skin there, the heat, the measure of weight in his hand but he strokes, roughly, watching Duke’s face, the blades of his cheekbones, watching him bite his own bitten-raw lip again, blood on his mouth, the glint of his teeth, Nathan splaying his other hand out on his chest, holding him down on the floor._

“What exactly happened?” Nathan says quietly.

Duke laughs.

“What?” he says, practically a taunt. “You want a play-by-play?”

Nathan stares at him, the first flicker of emotion twisting across his blank face. It’s a look Nathan’s familiar with: the crooked smirk of his swollen mouth, eyebrow raised, but it’s not sitting quite right, this time. “I need to know.”

He does. The flashes of memory he keeps getting… he needs to hear Duke say it out loud.

Duke eyes him for a moment and finally shrugs. His voice is completely flat. “I touched you. I think that set it off. You tackled me to the floor before I could figure out what was going on. I was trying to talk to you, but it was like you couldn’t even hear me, couldn’t register what I was saying. You were… single-minded. I figured out what you wanted pretty quick.”

_Duke’s back hits the floor, air knocking out of his lungs with a muffled oomf. Nathan is clawing, desperate, trying to touch as much of him as he can, whining at his own inability to feel. His fingers catch on the edges of Duke’s shirt and he yanks, splitting it open, buttons scattering, revealing the delicate array of muscles working under his skin as he twists beneath him, the curls of black ink, and Nathan can hear himself growl in triumph, ruts against him -_

“Mara gave us some commentary.”

_There’s sound coming from somewhere to the left of them, unimportant, the only thing Nathan is focusing on is pulling down Duke’s jeans, his hands broad on his hips, digging his nails into Duke’s ass, “Ooh, that’s right, Wuornos, just like that. Like a fucking animal. Such a good dog, aren’t you? Do you like that, Duke? Is it everything you ever wanted? Look at you, lying there, taking it, like it’s just what you need, huh?”_

Nathan watches his throat work. There are dark bruises there. Fingerprints. “I went along with it, once I figured you weren’t going to stop. Second round, I even got you to go for my mouth instead.”

Nathan thinks he might be biting his tongue, can taste blood. “Why didn’t you… Couldn’t you have stopped me?”

“Like what, kicked you in the balls?” Duke asks, laughing that awful laugh again. “You can’t fucking _feel._ Should I have shot you in the head, Nate?”

_Duke’s eyes go wide as Nathan bows his head, mouth descending, crashing into his lips with a snarl like he’s something feral. He bites as much as he kisses, teeth clacking against teeth. Duke smells like saltwater and gunpowder, laundry soap and sweat, spice and whisky, and Nathan gasps, shifting until he’s straddling him, aware of his desire pooling even though he can’t feel Duke bucking between his legs._

“I’m sorry,” Nathan says. “I didn’t mean - “ his voice catches. “I’m _sorry,_ Duke. I’m so fucking- “

And he _is,_ so fucking sorry, because from what he can remember, what Duke’s saying, then Nathan’s done the unthinkable. He’s taken his, god, _his best fucking friend_ and he’s -

_Wait, wait, Nathan, buddy, Duke says, as Nathan grinds his dick against his ass, panting into Duke’s shoulder, here, come on, shh, you don’t want to- You want to make it good, right? He sucks Nathan’s fingers into his mouth one by one, flicking his tongue between them, guiding his hand back down. Come on, come on, it’s all right, we’ll be all -_

“Jesus, Nathan,” Duke says, twitching uncomfortably. “It’s not like it’s your fault. Anyway. It happened. It’s over. Now we just have to figure out how the hell to deal with this one. Guess I’m gonna be wearing gloves for a while.”

“How can you say that?” Nathan demands. “How can you just act like…”

“Like, what?” Duke folds his arms over his chest, jeans still clenched in his fist. “Like we had some really inadvisable sex? Yeah, sorry, buddy. That’s not exactly my first rodeo, there.”

His mouth fills with the coppery taste of blood. “I fucking _ra_ \- “

“Shut up,” Duke says. “You didn’t. Stop it. Yeah, okay. Those were some undesirable circumstances. And the she-devil’s voyeurism thing wasn’t exactly ideal. But _you_ didn’t do anything. It was a fucking Trouble. How many times have you told people it’s not their fault when the Troubles fuck them _over?_ It’s not like either of us- “ He cuts off, running a hand through his hair. “Look, have you called Audrey? I know it’s not… you should talk to her, about this.”

Audrey. Audrey, who he’s going to have to explain to, that Mara watched, that he - _He flips Duke over easily, gets him on his knees, one hand curled on the back of his neck, forcing him down, ass up, the other scrabbling at his waistband. He works him open with one finger, two, three, hand slicked with spit, while Duke makes a long, low sound, face pressed into the ground -_

“No,” he croaks. “I haven’t called her.”

Duke sighs. “Call your girlfriend, Nathan. Now,” he waves a hand. “I’d ask you to leave so I could get dressed but, well, nothing you haven’t seen, right?” The towel drops to the floor.

“Fuck, Duke,” Nathan says, averting his eyes. Duke is a tall stretch of olive skin and lean muscles and rawboned grace and his stomach keeps twisting, imagining what it felt like to have all of that beneath him, writhing, opening up. He has to resist the urge to put his hand over his face like a child hiding.

“You've already done that,” Duke says cheerfully, tugging on his jeans. "You can look now, Princess, I’m decent.”

Nathan jerks to his feet, anger flooding through him.

“You don’t have to make a goddamn joke out of this,” he snarls. He takes a step towards Duke. “For god’s sake - “

Duke flinches.

Nathan goes still. His hands have worked their way into fists, and he loosens them, helplessly. He gapes at Duke, huddling away from him, as if he’s afraid Nathan’s going to -

“Duke,” he says, raising a hand that hangs in the air, useless. Duke’s back is pressed up against his dresser. His eyes are enormous, dark and liquid. “I-”

“ _Don’t fucking touch me.”_

“I wasn’t,” Nathan says, stepping back until he can’t, realises he must have hit the bed. “I wasn’t going to.”

Duke straightens up, back slamming against the wall. His mouth twists in a snarl.

“Call your damn girlfriend, Nathan,” he says, voice shaking. His shoulders are shaking again, too, Nathan can see, whole body shivering like he’s freezing cold. “And get off of my boat.”

“Duke-”

“ _Get off my boat,_ Nathan,” he gasps, voice twisting up on itself. Nathan stands there, heart in his throat. He has _no idea,_ he realises with a sudden rush of helplessness, what they’re going to do. “I don’t _want_ you here, get off of my _fucking boat.”_

Nathan goes.

 

* * *

 

Audrey meets him at his place. He gets halfway to _The Gull_ before he has to pull over, breathing in horrible wrenching gasps, with the realization that he can’t go there, can’t be anywhere near anything that’s _Duke’s,_ right now.

He kills the engine of the Bronco in his driveway, makes it all the way through the front door, into the living room - and then that’s it, he’s done. He doesn’t take off his shoes or his jacket or even drop the keys from his clenched fist, just sinks to the floor.

_He comes for the second time with a choking howl, straight down Duke’s throat, fucking upwards into his face, Duke taking him all the way into his mouth with his eyes closed, dark lashes resting against his skin like moth’s wings, lips slick, his left hand ringed around the base of Nathan’s cock, on his knees between Nathan’s spread legs, Nathan stretched out on the floor, fingers twisted in Duke’s hair -_

“Nathan?” Audrey says, dropping down beside him. He hasn’t heard her come in. He watches her put her hands on his shoulders, flutter upwards to cup his jaw. “Oh my god, _Nathan._ What happened? Are you all right?”

Nathan makes himself nod, his head in her hands.

She swears. She pulls away from him and he paws for her, fingers clutching the air, before she comes back, swinging the ancient afghan that lives on the back of his couch over his shoulders.

“It’s okay, Nathan,” she murmurs. “It’s all right.”

She’s treating him like a victim, he realises dimly. She settles beside him, making soothing noises, lets him see her hands resting on his arms, like she’s trying to hold him together.

He thinks of Duke, showering in the dark. His room still filled with Jennifer’s things.

“I’m fine,” he gasps, eventually. “I’m fine, Audrey. _Audrey.”_

He sinks into her, chest heaving, and Audrey’s arms go up around him. Nathan buries his face in her neck, smells her soap, lotion, deodorant, something bitter orange and sandalwood, layered under the day’s sweat. He breathes and breathes and breathes, trying to get enough air.

Time passes. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, huddled in Audrey’s arms. He’s not aware that he’s cried any until he sees Audrey’s hand move towards his face, wiping gently at his eyes.

“Nathan,” she asks softly. “What happened?”

He swallows hard. “I was over at _The Rouge..._ “ He trails off, uncertain. Beside him, Audrey draws in a sharp breath.

“Is Duke… is he... “

“He’s alive,” Nathan says, and Audrey goes slack beside him with relief. “Don’t-”

_Don’t worry._

“Mara gave him a Trouble,” he says. And then, without any other recourse, he explains.

Audrey listens to him silently. When he’s finally done, words worn out, she just says, “Oh, _Nathan._ I’m so sorry. It’s not your fault,” and lets him fall into her arms again, tired and sore-hearted and empty.

 

* * *

 

Duke gets drunk.

He lines up every liquor he has on the boat and then he moves down the line, drinking them straight out of the bottle, whisky burning down his throat, then rum, then vodka.

He drinks and he drinks and he drinks and he can’t stop _fucking remembering_ and, eventually, on the kitchen floor, he passes out.

 

* * *

 

It’s early, the sun only just up, when Audrey drives to _The Cape Rouge_. She leaves Nathan wrapped up in his bed with a kiss, tells him she’ll be back soon.

The marina is quiet when she pulls up, the air crisp and cold and sharp with salt. Duke isn’t outside, so she knocks, waits. The boat slowly rolls under her feet, but Audrey’s long gotten used to the sway, hardly notices, now.

It’s a long time before he comes to the door. When it swings open, he stands in the way, not inviting her in. He’s wearing long sleeves. Gloves.

“Audrey,” he says neutrally. His voice rasps. “Morning.”

Audrey can’t stop staring at his throat. There are bitemarks winding their way down beneath the collar of his henley. Handprints. Like Nathan had _choked -_

“Hey,” she says. “Can I come in?”

There’s another long pause while he looks at her, eyes assessing, before he nods and steps back. He doesn’t look back at her as he walks inside, her trailing after him.

He stops in the kitchen area, leaning his elbows on the counter. There’s a pile of empty bottles sitting next to him. He looks drained, purple shadows hanging heavily under his eyes, his hair a mess. He looks like someone took him in both hands and wrenched, wrung him out. Audrey can feel her eyes burn and she blinks, once, twice. Doesn’t cry.

“You want a drink or something? Coffee?”

She shakes her head. She’s rehearsed this the entire drive over, but now that she’s here, her tongue sits in her mouth like it’s made of wood.

Duke nods at her like he’s only half-processing her response, eyes distant. She thinks about the dull look in Nathan’s eyes that morning. She thinks about how _Mara_ did this, to them, to her boys - and then she has to stop thinking, because if she doesn’t, she’ll have to think about how Mara is a part of _her._

What that means she is.

“Nathan told you?” he asks. “About the Trouble?”

She nods. He smiles, like ice cracking over frozen water. “Well. Just keep your hands to yourself. This one’s not too hard.”

“Duke, I - “ she starts. Stops. Starts again. “I came to see if you were all right.”

She can tell, already, the answer.

He shrugs one shoulder. “Lemme guess, Nathan freaked you out? How’s he holding up?”

“Not so great,” she says. _Traumatized. Guilty. Scared._ “But how are _you?”_

“I’m fine, Audrey,” he says, head cocking. “If that’s the only reason you’re here. Thanks for stopping by.”

“I’m here because one of my friends was… hurt,” Audrey says, scrunching her brow. Duke raises an eyebrow.

“Okay.”

She curses mentally, wishes maybe she had asked for a cup of coffee, just to have something to do with her hands.

“Did you want to go to the hospital?” Audrey asks, finally. “I mean, not so - Nathan’s clean, I’m clean, that’s not a problem, but if you’re hurt - “

Duke stares at her. “I didn’t give your boyfriend the fucking clap, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“ _No,”_ Audrey says, aghast. This is what _heart in my stomach,_ means, she realises - the dropping of a heavy weight, the emptiness it leaves in the path of its fall. “No, Duke, _god,_ that’s not what I - I just meant, after something like this, you could’ve been. Could've been. Injured.”

“‘Something like this’?” he echoes. “I’m not a fucking _rape victim._ You and Nathan can both stop playing that tune.”

Audrey’s had training on this, trauma counseling. Hell, it’s her entire _purpose_ \- helping the Troubled, the people who are shocked and grieving and hurt and no one else can help. Standing here, looking at Duke with his drawn face and the bruises her boyfriend put there, she doesn’t have a clue what to do.

She can feel them both slipping, like she’s trying to hold them all together in a current, undertow dragging them away from her, from each other.

“ _Duke,”_ she says. “You- I mean, it’s not- You were forced to have sex you couldn’t say no to. You don’t… you don’t have to say you were raped, if you don’t want to. You get to make that decision. But what happened was something _horrible_ , and violating, and it... _hurt you.”_

She watches him wince.

She holds his gaze for a long moment, trying to put everything into it: support and acceptance and sympathy. His eyes are shining and dark, like oil spilled, floating across the surface of the sea. Duke looks away.

“All right, Detective Parker.” He sounds exhausted. “Thanks. For the after-school special. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m just- “ She bites her lip, staring down at her hands

He sighs.

“Seriously, Audrey, why are you here? You want an apology?” he says. “I’m sorry I fucked your boyfriend.” He jaw clenches, like he’s holding something trapped in it. “It won’t happen again.”

She stares at him in horror. His shoulders are trembling. She wants to reach out and touch him, feels the chasm between them splitting wider like an earthquake, her hands hanging from her feeling like useless dead weight. The way they feel around Nathan nowadays.

“No,” she whispers. “I don’t want an apology. You’ve got nothing to apologize for.”

This time, he does laugh. It’s awful.

“Sure. Okay.”

“I’m here,” Audrey says, trying once more. She’s Audrey Fucking Parker. She can do this, she thinks, even as a sly little voice in her head whispers back, _Oh, Mara’s little shadow. If you're a part of her, and she did this, then so did_ you _._ She cuts it off viciously. “To let you know that I’m your friend, and I love you, and I’m here if you need me.”

His head slumps down on the counter. Audrey watches his neck, the little sickle-shaped bruises imprinted there from Nathan’s teeth.

“Ain't that the problem,” he says, voice muffled in his arms. “What the fuck is it I _need_?”

 

* * *

 

 She calls Dwight.

“I don’t care what you need to do or how you do it,” she says. “I want Mara off of Duke’s boat. Right fucking now.”

Dwight, wise man that he is, says okay.

 

* * *

 

After Audrey leaves, Duke goes to see Mara. 

She perks up when he steps inside, stopping a few feet away from her. The morning light coming from the ceiling glints brightly on her smile.

Duke doesn’t let his eyes sink closed when he gets inside the room, but it’s a near thing. He doesn’t look at the floor, where he and Nathan -

“Hey, Lover Boy,” Mara says. She tilts her head. “Aww, didn’t get much sleep? You still look like you were ridden hard and put away wet. Your one night stand sneak out before breakfast? That’s cold.”

“You been saving those all night?” His whole body feels like it’s throbbing, hungover and bruised. _Go to the hospital,_ Audrey had said, but his ribs aren’t broken and his wrists aren’t broken and if anything else in him is broken, well, he’ll live. He’s had worst.

“Oh, I got loads,” Mara agrees. “Not every day I get a show like that in this dump, is it? You could call it… inspiring.”

She smiles tranquilly, nodding at his gloved hands.

“And would you look at those. Such a sensible boy, wearing protection.”

He has to fight to keep his hands from clenching into fists, crinkling in the leather. The gloves are an annoyance, his palms sweating inside of them, making him overly conscious of where his hands are at all times. Duke has a flash of sympathy for Jordan McKee.

“Why this one?” he rasps, making himself meet Mara’s gaze. Stares back, evenly. “Why this Trouble?”

She sighs like she’s disappointed in him. The chains rustle.

“Duke, Duke, Duke,” she chants. “You’ve got to have figured it out by now. Why do I do anything? _Because it’s fun._ And watching you two pretty boys go at it… Mmmm. That is _fun.”_

Fun, Duke thinks. Right. He thinks of the things Mara said as they were fucking, like, _you’re so pretty like this,_ and _look at how good you take it,_ and _your hard fucking cock, you love it, don’t you,_ and _good dog._

“And besides,” she adds, voice dropping, hunching forward like she’s sharing a secret. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

Duke looks away.

“You could say I did you a favour,” she continues. “I just gave you what you wanted, didn’t I? In fact, you’re welcome.”

He wonders, dizzily, if Mara actually believes that. If this was her way of fetching him Nathan like a cat dropping a battered sparrow on his doorstep. A gift.

His breath hitches unbidden, and he bites on the edge of his tongue, hand flying up to press his knuckles to his mouth, tasting leather.

“Awww. It’s like you’re seventeen and sobbing into your pina colada again.” Mara says. “Ohh, mommy doesn’t love me, ohhh, I think I like boys, cry cry cry, no one cares, take a number.”

“Shut up,” Duke says. He jerks his hand away from his mouth, fingers curling.

Mara raises her fingers in mock surrender, wrists flexing in their binds. “I know, I know - the only thing daddy ever taught you was how to handle your liquor, but I guess it took a few more years for the family alcoholism to kick in, huh, sweetheart?”

“Shut _up,_ Mara,” he breathes.

“Oooh, found a sore spot? I know everything Audrey knows,” Mara says. “Every dirty little secret you ever told her over a couple martinis. And you have _so many_ dirty little secrets, don’t you, Duke?” She clicks her tongue. “That’s one of my favourites: the night Nathan left for college, _you_ skipped out of town with a fakie and spent it draining every bar in the next county over dry. Did Nathan know that one, hmmm?”

She glances at him sidelong, and whatever she sees in his face makes her smile widen.

“You know, I don’t think he did. Huh. Awwwkward.”

Duke is lunging for her before he realises he’s moving, fist up.

“Going to hit me, Duke?” Mara asks softly, looking up at him. He freezes. “Guess the bad apple didn’t fall very far from the tree.”

He backs away from her like she’s on fire.

 

* * *

 

Dwight won’t stop staring at the gloves.

He waits until Mara’s been safely bundled into the back of his SUV before he clears his throat - and Duke wants to tell him, _don’t listen to her, she’s a liar, whatever she says it’s not true,_ wants to tell him, _keep her gagged,_ and instead he bites down on the side of his tongue. It’s not like Dwight’s really the type to start spreading rumours, should Mara decide to sully his reputation. It’s not like Duke really has anything approaching a reputation _to_ sully. He feels a brief twist in his gut when he thinks of Nathan, and what word of this getting out could do to _him_ \- but if Dwight was good at one thing, it was keeping his mouth shut, and he’d always seemed all right with Nathan.

Duke tries to guess which of the questions he’s going to ask, gaze still fixed on Duke’s gloves, but he’s still a little taken aback when Dwight says, “Just… tell me. What she gave you, is it - your brother, he - is it... Jordan’s?”

Duke shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweater, feels his shoulders hunch. Dwight hasn’t come anywhere close to touching distance since he first spotted the gloves but Duke can still feel the rabbit-tension in his own legs.

(He hates it, and he isn’t surprised by it, not at all.)

“No,” he says, staring down at his boots. “No, it’s something different.”

He thinks of Jordan Mckee: her eyes wet as she shot Nathan, the warm weight of Nathan in his arms, Jordan crumpling as he shot her in return. Jordan all sharp, broken edges, snarling with a shotgun in her hands, Jordan with the tattoo on her naked forearm and her trembling hands, his own body seizing as she touched him and pain lightning-bolted through every inch of him. Jordan’s corpse sunk into the bay, her ink-dark hair floating in the murky water, her body wrapped in plastic.

(He’d rather have it, he thinks, sickly.)

Duke can’t tell if Dwight believes him or not, but he only nods, once, and walks away.

 

* * *

 

“You should take a sick day,” Audrey tells him, and Nathan just looks at her.

It’s quiet in Haven. Nathan wakes up, goes to work, goes home. The job is a rut in the road he can slide right into, let himself go through the motions, and for once the town makes it easy for him. He has a few pulling-cats-out-of-trees days, the kind of stuff that was Haven’s bread and butter before the Troubles rolled back into town, and waits for it all to blow up.

Dwight pulls him aside at one point, face concerned.

“What happened?” he asks in a low voice. “Is it Mara- the Troubles- Haven?”

Nathan just shakes his head, manages to croak out, “Nothing. It’s just… personal.”

“‘Personal’ like girlfriend trouble? Because you and Audrey-”

“No,” Nathan cuts him off. “Audrey and I are fine.”

Dwight looks at him for a long moment, studying his face, and lets him go.

He keeps getting flashes of memory, strong enough to make him stop whatever he’s doing, reach out for something to hold himself up:

_Scissoring his fingers inside of Duke while he keens and keens and keens, bottoming out inside of him in one stroke, the smack of skin against skin, hips jerking in frantic, jarring thrusts, hands clawing at Duke’s flank._

Duke had written it off, waved away his actions as the Trouble, but Nathan wonders. That hungry, heedless feeling that had consumed him, it must have come from somewhere. Welled up from some place inside of him. _I know you,_ Duke had said, _you would never,_ but Nathan _had_ and so what was he, really?

He doesn’t talk to Duke. He doesn’t see Duke. He’s not sure if Duke’s actually left his boat, since-

Audrey comes over every night. They don’t fuck. He wraps himself around her, listens to her heart beat steady and slow as she drifts off to sleep, smells her shower-dampened hair. She keeps telling him things like _it’s not your fault_ and _you’re just as much a victim here_ and _there’s only one person to blame, and that’s Mara_ and, most of all, _it’ll be all right._

Sometimes he is fiercely, horribly glad that he can’t feel her anymore.

She gives him three days, and then she tells him they need to see Duke.

“Because he’s your _friend,_ Nathan,” she says. “You can’t lose that. Not over this.”

She tells him that Dwight had taken Mara away the next night, squirrelling her away in a safe house with only two trusted members of the Guard knowing where she was. He doesn’t ask where.

“We need to find a way to fix it,” she says. “To help him. All of Duke’s Troubles, they’ve been cured so far. We just need to find how to get rid of this one.”

Nathan thinks sometimes about someone else touching Duke, skin on skin, and the horrible carnivore hunger taking over them, pinning Duke down. Duke’s bare chest heaving, rabbiting heart and desperate lungs, beneath their weight. His mouth a bloody mess. The first time the thought hits he goes to his knees in front of the toilet, certain that his stomach would be churning if he could feel it, and dry-retches.

Sometimes he dreams about it. He keeps waking up to Audrey’s frantic face, her hands on him like she's been trying to shake him awake. She never says if he's been shouting in his sleep, but he knows.

At the end of the third day, Nathan says okay. Audrey makes the call.

 

* * *

 

Duke throws out the empty bottles but isn’t nearly wasteful or optimistic enough to dump the full ones down the drain, just closes up the liquor cabinet and decides to pretend that he doesn’t have rum stashed under the sink, gin stowed behind his copy of _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,_ bourbon beneath his bed. He fixes the old radio that’s been lying in pieces on his coffee table for months now _,_ cleans out his fridge, strips, cleans, and reloads every single gun he owns, and doesn’t think of Nathan choking him, of Audrey saying _you’ve got nothing to apologize for._ The ache slowly begins to lessen in his body, and he doesn’t think of them at all. 

( _Lie, lie, lie.)_

He’s bargaining: he knows this because he knows himself. Everything is transactional. If he fixes something, makes something, does _anything,_ then he hasn’t done _nothing,_ hasn’t slowly started to sink into the cushions of his armchair while downing one can of PBR after another, hasn’t grown glassy-eyed and catatonic in the corner of the living room on a bed of broken needles. He makes khao mok kai and makes himself eat it and sews the button back onto his jeans and justifies his living for another day.

He’s making a trade-off and he’s _stalling_ , he knows this because Duke knows his fucking _self,_ and like he told Nathan, this isn’t his first damn rodeo. But he looks out the porthole that faces the wide, blue expanse of the ocean, and doesn’t look at the shore.

 _One more day,_ he tells himself, swallows the bitter whisky-burn of another lie, and bleaches his shower clean.

At night he dreams of his father’s soggy vowels saying, _you be good now, boy,_ and Mara cooing, _what a good dog,_ and his mother’s weathered smile and Nathan’s face twisted with hunger and Jennifer kissing him and Audrey staring at his throat. He wakes up to sheets soaked with sweat and the lies all sit heavy on his chest like another bruise and then, with his heart thrumming in his ribcage, Duke cannot hide from the truth: it does not _matter_ what he cleans, what he fixes.

(He cannot fix this. He cannot wash away what he has done.)

 

* * *

 

Duke meets them at _The Gull_ after hours. Nathan gets there early and lets Audrey pour a martini into him. 

Duke is five minutes late, ten, twenty. The bartender leaves with a yawn and a shrug, sliding Audrey the key across the bar top. He wonders if maybe Duke left, pulled anchor, sailed away from the Haven shoreline and didn’t look back.

It’s awful, he realises, the idea of Duke being gone, hits him like a physical blow. Nathan can’t imagine the hollow space that would be left in his life if Duke took off, can’t imagine any way that he could fill it. The second realisation follows almost as quickly: _he has no idea what that means._

Nathan is just starting to think that he’s not going to show when the door opens, and he steps out of the dark night, into the low light of _The Gull._ He looks… better, Nathan thinks, his mouth no longer swollen, eyes sharp. The dull lights over the bar pick out the silver of his temples, in his beard. He doesn’t look at them. He walks straight past them, making a wide arc around the end of the bar, grabbing a whisky off the shelf as he goes. He pulls out three glasses pinched between the fingers of one gloved hand, fills them.

“I don’t know about you,” he says finally, skidding two of the glasses in their direction, clinking against each other. “But if we’re doing this, I need a drink.” 

Audrey catches one glass against her palm, rolls it thoughtfully around. “This isn’t supposed to be a trial, Duke.”

“What is it, then?” Duke asks, a little mean. “Couples Counseling?”

“I just thought that you - that _we_ \- should talk.”

Duke downs half his whisky in one long drag, throat pitching. The bruises are starting to turn colour. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s talk.”

None of them say anything.

Nathan keeps staring at the bruises. _I did that,_ he thinks. _My body, my hands, I did that to him, I-_

"We have to find a way to cure it," Audrey says after the silence stretches on. "To make sure it doesn't happen again."

"You think I don't know that?" Duke asks harshly. Nathan can see the fear flicker in his eyes. Inside his gloves, his hands twitch.

Nathan watches Audrey out of the corner of his eye, her knuckles gone white as she squeezes her glass.

“ _Mara_ did this,” she spits out. “Mara did this to the two of you, and it’s _awful_ , but you can’t let her-”

“What, ‘win’?” Duke asks. “What does that even mean?”

There’s something sharp and fragile about him, like he’s glass. One hit away from breaking, slicing them all to pieces.

“It means you don’t _give up,”_ Audrey says.

Duke raises an eyebrow. “Thanks, coach. Go team. Look,” he says, as Audrey bites her lip in frustration. “I don’t have any problems with you, okay? Either of you. We’re all fine in my book.”

“I don’t,” Nathan says, finally, clearing his throat. “I don’t have a problem with you.”

“Okay. See? We’re all fine here, then.”

Audrey takes a swig of her whisky. “You can’t just- we need to _talk_ about this, all right?”

“Which part?” Duke says. His eyes are bright. On the other side of the bar, he looks cornered. Breaking point, Nathan thinks. “The part where your boyfriend fucked me up the ass? Or the part where I sucked his dick to keep him from having another go? Which part, exactly, did you want to go over?”

Audrey pulls in an audible breath, glass clattering on the bar.

Nathan can hear a roaring in his ears.

He tears his gaze away, looks down at his drink, the little ripples startling through the amber liquid. His hands are shaking. “I’m sorry-”

Duke gives a violent shake of his head.

“Stop it,” he interrupts. “Just stop it. Stop treating me like a fucking victim, like you- it was _me,”_ he says, shoving himself away from the counter with both hands, voice cracking. “Okay? Do you get it? It was _me._ I wanted it. I wanted _you.”_ He laughs. “And I fucking _got you.”_

“ _Duke_ -”

“That’s how the Troubles work, isn’t it? They take some part of you, something that’s wrong or broken in you, and they make it worse. And I guess that’s what’s wrong with me this time, Nathan: _I want you._ You, and Audrey, and- I’ve always - “ his voice breaks again. He draws a shuddering breath through his nose. “That’s why this happened. Because of my stupid fucking -“

Duke cuts himself off, eyes closed.

Nathan stares.

“So all right, Audrey,” Duke says quietly. “I think that’s all there is to talk about.”

He finishes his drink, leaving the glass on the counter and, without looking back at them, walks out the door.

They let him go.

 

* * *

 

Audrey leads him upstairs, small hand in his. As soon as the door shuts behind them Nathan turns to her, expression twisted.

 “Audrey,” he says. “I don’t- I need- “

She kisses him. A full-body kind of kiss, slipping one knee between both of his, hands going up to frame his face. Nathan licks into her mouth like he’s chasing the taste of whisky. She whines as his arms go around her, hands sliding under her shirt, warm points of pressure. She needs him, to feel him, whole and here and hers.

Audrey is _desperate._

“Is this okay?” she gasps, pulling back. “Are you- “

“ _Parker,”_ Nathan growls. His hands slip down over her ass, curve around her thighs, hauling her up, off her feet. Her legs wrap around his waist. She clutches at his shoulders, kissing him, and Nathan walks them backwards to her bed.

She wonders what it felt like, when he was fucking Duke. If Nathan was just as frantic to get his mouth on him, to taste him.

He sits her on the edge, mouth only pulling away from hers long enough to set her down, breathing ragged against her lips. Audrey starts in on his buttons, pulling open his shirt.

“Forget about mine,” Nathan says, voice rough. “You-”

His hands skitter on her shoulders, and Audrey gets it. She pulls her t-shirt over her head, smiling to herself at Nathan’s audible intake of breath. Quickly, she reaches behind her, fingers scrabbling to open her bra clasp.

“Parker,” Nathan groans again, voice thready. His big hands are on her then, again, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. They stiffen beneath his touch and Audrey shudders. She kicks out of her shoes, narrowly missing Nathan’s knees as he settles between her legs, dragging his tongue down the hollow of her throat. He moans her name again, mouthing at her breasts.

Audrey fits her hands between their two bodies, flicks open the button of her jeans, shimmying them down.

Nathan sinks to his knees. He licks his way down the length of her, pausing, face buried in her thigh, when he gets to her panties.

Audrey’s wet already, can scent herself as she hooks her thumbs in the waistband, lifting her hips to pull them down. Nathan whimpers.

She opens her legs wider, guiding his head down with a gentle hand.

Nathan doesn’t hesitate. He licks a long stripe straight up through her folds, blue eyes open. One of his hands reaches up and Audrey catches it, threading his fingers through hers.

She knocks her head back as Nathan works on her, tonguing straight up inside of her. She can feel the motion of his jaw as he twists his tongue around, looping around inside of her, mouth wide. He works his way up, curling the tip around her clit, and Audrey’s legs tighten around him, heels resting on his spine.

She thinks about Duke, swallowing Nathan down. Nathan tugging at his hair. How his face must have looked, cheeks hollowing, eyes slipping closed, all dark lashes and sweat-shining skin and-

Heat floods through her, prickling her skin, making her muscles tighten.

Nathan keeps going, tasting his way over her, and it’s quick. She comes with his hand held tightly in hers.

Guilt tides over her right on its heels, stomach flipping. Is that how Mara felt, watching them? Audrey does not know what her new body is made of, but she thinks, with a feeling of rising horror, that it might have inside of it that same seed of darkness that made Mara who she is.

She doesn’t know what it will grow into, inside of her.

“Come here,” she says unsteadily, still clinging to his hand. “Come up here, I need you-”

Nathan does, dragging his body upwards between her legs, unfolding the length of himself on top of her. He kisses her and she can taste herself on him. He gets one knee up on the edge of the bed and Audrey falls back, her back lying flat on the blankets, crooking one knee around him.

Nathan gropes towards her nightstand, knocking her alarm clock to the floor, and comes back with a condom in hand. She yanks it away from him.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Audrey pants. She skates one hand between them, finds Nathan’s jeans, the hard line of his cock pressing against them. Fumblingly, she undoes his zipper, tugs his boxers far enough down to pull him out, knuckles skimming over the velvety skin of his balls. She wraps her hand around his cock, thumbing over his leaking slit. Nathan chokes.

“Come _on,_ Nathan,” she says. He’s a warm and heavy weight in her hand, and she rolls the condom on in one motion, hand a firm fist around him. She steers him into her, lets him push up inside of her in one smooth thrust.

How hard did he fuck Duke, she wonders. Did he take him from behind, did he hold him steady with both of his broad hands on his waist, did he come inside of Duke the way he likes to do in her-

Nathan drops his head to her shoulder, chest heaving, his knuckles grinding against hers so tightly they almost hurt. She rocks her hips up into his, setting a rhythm that Nathan’s body follows instinctively, bucking against her. Nathan fucks her sloppily, dick slipping out of her to slide back and forth between her folds, throbbing with heat.

It’s quick and filled with heat and if the rhythm isn’t then the way they hold onto each is careful, the two of them so careful with each other, even as they press against one another, desperate. Audrey feels desire build inside of her, so sharp it almost aches.

“I love you,” Nathan says, gasping, his mouth wet on her shoulder. His hips keep kicking forward, driving the length of him into her, deep and filling. “I love you, I love you, I love you, Parker, _Audrey-_ ”

He comes inside of her with a low moan. Audrey clutches him to her, rides him all the way down.

Afterwards, Nathan pulls out and hastily tugs off the condom, tying it off and tossing it somewhere on the floor. He drops face-first on the sheets beside her, still wheezing for breath. She runs her hand clumsily over any part of him she can reach, shoulder blades, spine, hips.

Nathan shifts over, rolling onto his back, and tugs her until she’s lying half on top of him. They lie like that for a long while. Audrey keeps herself draped over him, boneless, his chest rising under her, watching the shadows play over the sharp line of his jaw. Nathan’s voice is scratchy when he finally speaks.

“I’d never hurt you,” Nathan says. “I’d never betray you, but, Audrey…”

Audrey waits, her head on Nathan’s chest, listening to him breathe.

Finally, in the darkness he says, barely a whisper, like a secret, “What Duke said?... I think I… sometimes I think I really wanted him just as much.”

Audrey tilts her head, pressing a kiss to Nathan’s breastbone. His skin is warm and sweat-slicked.

“I know,” she says. “I want him, too.”

 

* * *

 

He keeps meaning to go into the hold, to clean up. Get rid of the chair with the manacles. Erase all trace of Mara.

He can’t bring himself to go down there.

After he walks out on Nathan and Audrey, he wonders if _The Gull_ is going to be ruined for him, too.

He lies on the deck of _The Rouge,_ watches the cotton-candy swirl of the galaxy streaked above him, the vast expanse of stars. The boat sways gently, the seas calm tonight. It’s cold out and he just lies there, feeling it, goosebumps prickling across his skin. The lights from the harbour bob around him.

He peels the gloves off, once he’s alone. He’s never really thought of himself as a particularly touchy-feely person but after three days of orbiting just out of everyone’s reach, rocking back on his heels and stuffing his hands in his pockets, he’s starting to feel like his skin is crawling. Like an itch he’s not allowed to scratch, raw skin underneath a cast.

The fear is worse, though. Sticking metallic to the back of his throat. The fear that someone else will touch him, brush against his wrist, his face, and then -

He thinks of Jordan McKee, leather gloves. It’s like a feedback loop, the fear, and the worry that the fear is what he’s going to feel for the rest of his life.

But then, this is Haven. That’s probably not gonna be too long.

He expects to feel hollow, after his talk with Audrey and Nathan, now that he’s ripped out that last tender little fledgling inside of him, offered it up. But he doesn’t. He guesses he didn’t really have anything left to hollow out after all.

Nathan had looked so guilty. Stupid. Just like him to shoulder the blame, when Duke knew the truth.

He makes lists, in his head. All the things he did to deserve this. If he could just find the right one, the fuck-up he’s done that lead to this, then maybe he really can fix it, fix them, fix himself.

_Dirty secrets._

Eventually, he jerks himself off roughly with one hand, thinking about the feel of Nathan’s callous hand on his dick, his other hand pinning him to the ground. He thinks about the taste of Nathan, flicking his tongue around his foreskin, gagging on him, swallowing his cum. Thinks of Nathan opening him up with one hand, fingering inside of him clumsily, filling him up. Nathan rutting into him, hips slapping against his ass, Mara calling out _swallow it_ and _good dog,_ the burn of Nathan’s skin against his own, hot as blood.

He thinks of Nathan’s face as he told him _I want you._

Thinks of Audrey saying _I love you._

He comes with one hand stuffed in his mouth, still tasting the salt of the ocean air.

Afterward, he doesn’t feel any better.

There’s a burn in his stomach, in his eyes, that feels like grief. He wonders what it is his body thinks its mourning: Jennifer, the ghost of her touch still on his skin, the broken remnants of his relationship with Audrey and Nathan, maybe.

(Maybe himself.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm rabbittrabbitt on tumblr, it's a lot less sad over there, and you should totally come say hi.


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